


Summer Storm

by MidnightBeast1098



Series: Marvel Imagines [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Second Person, puppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:50:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightBeast1098/pseuds/MidnightBeast1098
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You want a puppy. Charles doesn't. And the result is...?</p><p>-</p><p>Written in second person using 'y/n' in the place of, well, your name. Or someone else's name. Pick whoever you want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another in the second person Marvel series thingymablobbie.
> 
> Hope ye likey.

“Charles?”

“No.”

“Please!”

“No!”

Charles glares at you across the room, from where he's sat behind his desk. You sidle around the wood and perch on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his forehead. Charles relaxes underneath you.

“Please,” you whisper into his soft cheek. “I'll look after it and everything.”

“No, y/n,” Charles sighs.

“Why not?” you whine, swinging from his neck. He grasps your arms, his blue eyes boring into yours.

“Because I said so.”

Huffing, you stand and fold your arms. “You're so dull, Charles Xavier!”

“Thanks,” he says, laughing; when he sees you're no, he stops. “Look, y/n. We simply couldn't look after a puppy, especially with the kids coming. I'd love to have one, but...” His eyes avert and you sense he's keeping something from you.

“But?”

He pauses and sighs before finally saying, “It'd be too much work.”

“I'd look after it!”

“No!” he shouts, and you take a step back. Charles never shouts, and he's never shouted at you. “I'm sorry,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “It's been a long day.”

Nodding slowly, you go back over to him and drop a kiss onto his floppy brown hair. “I'm sorry, Charles.”

He smiles up at you and kisses your lips softly. “It's okay.”

-

“Y/n!” someone shouts up the stairs.

“Coming!” you yell back, throwing on a pair of jeans. Charles took you out for a nice dinner, probably to make up for the argument you'd had the day before.

You hurtle down the stairs, slipper socks nearly making you fall down the carpeted floor. “Charles?” you call. “Where are you?”

“In here!” he calls from the front room.

You walk into the room. Charles is sitting on the sofa, and turns to grin at you when you walk in. “What the...” you start.

A teeny tiny puppy bounds over to you, yapping delightedly, it's brown ears flapping. It trips just before it reaches you, and you bend down to pick it up. It nuzzles its short muzzle into your neck and you drop a kiss onto the Labrador's head, holding it close, tears of joy pricking your eyelids. “Charles?” you ask.

His eyes are bloodshot, and he wipes his runny nose with a tissue. “I'm allergic,” he says, and shrugs. Immediately, you feel terrible.

“Why didn't you tell me?” The puppy nibbles on your ear and you pull it away, laughing and tickling it's pudgy, pink belly.

“Because I knew you always wanted a puppy,” he replies, leaning over and gently stroking its smooth fur.

Just then, Hank appears around the door, and smiles at Charles, holding up a long box. “I've got it!” he cries. Charles begins to roll up his sleeve.

“What are you doing?” you ask in alarm.

Hank answers for him. “It's a serum that will mean Charles won't get the side-affects of the allergy. He'll still be allergic, and it'll have to be topped up weekly, but he won't get, well, this.” He points at Charles who rolls his eyes. A second later, he winces as the needle enters his smooth skin.

“Thank you, Charles,” you whisper, kissing his cheek. Charles rubs the needle wound and even Hank strokes the puppy with his blue hands.

Charles kisses your lips. “What are you going to call her?” The puppy's brown fur shimmers in the natural light of the sitting room, bathing her in a golden glow. She looks like she is wearing a halo.

“Summer,” you say confidently. You ask about her right eye, which is milky in colour. Summer seems to have to turn her whole head to see to the right.

“She was born blind,” Charles says carefully, checking your reaction. You nod slowly and quickly decide on a name change.

“Summer Storm. Summer for her coat, Storm for her eye. It looks like the eye of the storm. Geddit?” Charles laughs.

“Perfect,” he says, kissing you and the puppy in turn.

 


End file.
